


Sometimes

by Sonnet23



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, I needed to read something like that so I wrote it, the first half is quite angsty but it gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25593139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonnet23/pseuds/Sonnet23
Summary: 13th century, Wales. Just another one of Crowley’s failed jobs and another one of Aziraphale’s failed holidays. Although sometimes it’s hard to know what should be considered a failure.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to ImprobableDreams900 who beta-read this fic, fixed my grammar and pointed out the small inconsistencies in the text! I would have never finished it without you! <3  
> As I changed some things after the editing, all remaining mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading!

Aziraphale was on holiday. Well, actually no one had permitted him to leave his duties, but Aziraphale had decided it’d been just because they didn’t know what holidays were, Up There. If he were a human, he would deserve about four hundred years of holidays. He needed just a couple of weeks.

He hadn’t heard from his Adversary in quite some time, so he didn’t have any particularly evil plans to thwart anyway. So Aziraphale decided to make a short trip to Wales – or Cymru, as they called it here – and visit a small village where he’d spent some time a couple of centuries ago.

There was a Spring there that had been told to cure illnesses. People of the village used to believe that it belonged to fairies and spirits of the forest. Aziraphale had come to the village as a missionary spreading Christianity and – most importantly – culture. He had received orders and power to “saint” the Spring, making it truly holy, and to perform miracles to bring people together under the new religion. At first, the pagan guardian of the Spring hadn’t wanted to let him come near it. But after Aziraphale had cured a bunch of children from pox by merely washing their faces, the guardian had been so impressed that he’d asked Aziraphale to baptize him. After that, he had become a hermit, guarding the Spring and healing the sick people after Aziraphale had left.

His name was Joseph. Well, his Christian name. Aziraphale knew he was in Heaven now – he’d met him recently. Joseph was not very surprised to learn that Aziraphale had always been an angel. He wouldn’t have gone after him in the first place, if he hadn’t believed in him – that’s what he’d said, anyway. And he had also asked Aziraphale to go and visit his village if possible, for even after his death he felt responsible for it.

And so, Aziraphale came.  
  
As soon as he stepped in the vicinity of the village, he felt that unique atmosphere of holiness which he only felt in places with good and righteous people. Always on Earth, never in Heaven, for some reason.

Aziraphale was walking along the street, breathing in this pure and sweet air and thinking about how he would tell Joseph that his native land hadn’t changed a bit.

It was already midday, and Aziraphale had been walking and flying for several days in a row. He was thinking about staying somewhere to rest for a bit.

The Spring was only a few minutes away when his attention was attracted by a house. It was rather shabby, and the garden around it looked as if no one had been tending it for years. _It must be deserted_ , Aziraphale thought. He approached the low gate and peeked over it into the garden.

He saw something unusual.

Not far from the gate, there stood a cart. It was half-filled with earth. And next to it there was a large pit. It was about two metres long and almost as wide. He couldn’t see the bottom of it and guessed that it probably was rather deep. It looked almost as if someone had been digging a grave in their kitchen garden.

And was _that_ a body?

He narrowed his eyes, trying to see it better. Yes, most definitely! A man was lying in the tall grass near the cart. He couldn’t see anything but his feet, the ends of his black trousers covered with mud. The feet weren’t moving.

Aziraphale’s heart beat faster. He had to do something. He had to help the man – if he could still be helped, and if not… Well, at least he had to give him a decent burial; the heat was so horrible that a corpse would start decaying very soon.

“Hey! Excuse me, are you alright there?” he called hesitantly and looked around to see if anyone else was in the garden. There was no reply. 

The angel pushed the gate busily, ready to use magic if necessary. But to his surprise, it was unlocked – probably left by the person who had done this to the poor owner of the house.

Aziraphale hurried towards the pit. As he came closer, he suddenly felt a flutter of uncertainty in his chest. Should he really be doing this? He didn’t know this man, didn’t know what had happened to him and whether he was worthy of help.

 _Nonsense!_ Aziraphale stopped himself. _Everyone is worthy of help_. _Sometimes._

He shoved his worries down and crouched beside the body in the grass to examine it _—_ _him._

Yes, it was a man, now he was certain. He lay there face down on the ground, his messy dark hair covering not only his face but also the earth around it. Aziraphale noticed strange marks on his shirt – one on the shoulder and one on his lower back – as if he’d been burnt with something, and the fire had gone all the way through the fabric to his skin. The angel looked closer; the wounds were still oozing blood.

_Wait. Does that mean that..?_

He was almost sure corpses couldn’t bleed. So the unfortunate man had been either killed very recently or was still alive.

Aziraphale touched the man’s neck, trying to feel for a pulse. His fingers were met by something cold and wet. He jerked his hand away in disgust.

It was covered with dark-red. Aziraphale immediately scolded himself for being so squeamish and indifferent to the sufferings of another being. He sighed heavily, bit his lip, and turned the man over to see if he could still be helped. 

The angel inhaled sharply; there was a deep abrasion on the man’s forehead, above the right temple, and almost all of his face was covered with blood and dirt. He had probably been hit with something very heavy, because the spot around the wound was visibly swollen. He had bloody bruises on his jaw, neck and collar-bone, but that was not even the worst part.

The man’s shirt lay slightly opened on his chest, and there was the most horrible of his injuries. It looked like a burn – just like the ones on his back and shoulder. But it was larger and deeper, as if the source of fire had been held close to his skin for a long time. And the strangest thing was – it looked like the edges of the burn were still smouldering slowly.

Aziraphale frowned. Something occurred to him, and he tried to feel for the person’s aura. It was almost impalpable, fading away with the life that was leaving the body. It was also mixing with something alien, something holy but cruel at the same time.

But still, there it was: something… familiar.

Grey. It was always grey, but not dull and ordinary grey, but silvery shimmering grey. Like the steel of a sword or the bracelets that tinkle on women’s wrists while they dance. Or like the first rain, making the grey stone wall sparkle with wetness.

But it couldn’t be… Could it?

Very carefully, Aziraphale reached out and raised one of the man’s injured eyelids. 

He saw the yellow eye of a snake.

“Oh my goodness!” Aziraphale gasped, quickly retrieving his hand. His heart was racing. He couldn’t believe his eyes. No, that was not true: he _didn’t want_ _to_ believe his eyes. From the moment he’d seen it, he’d known in the back of his mind that the half-dead body lying in the grass was his long-time fr… adversary. He just didn’t want to accept it.

But what could Crowley be doing here? And who had done this to him? And what exactly was _this_?

Aziraphale had to shove those questions aside, and focus on the most important one:

How could he help the demon?

He winced at how absurd the question sounded. Angels should not help demons _at all_.

But this was not just some demon. This was _Crowley_. Aziraphale looked at him again, more closely this time. Knowing who he saw.

Aziraphale had seen the demon hurt before, but never like this. His skin was so pale that it looked almost grey, and it made an awful contrast with the streaks of blood staining it. An expression of pain and bitterness had twisted his features, and it almost broke Aziraphale’s heart. The angel couldn’t resist the urge to wipe some dirt and blood from his friend’s face and a small trace of salt that had dried up in the corner of his eye.

It shouldn’t be like that. It was too unsettling. Demons shouldn’t cry. No, _Crowley_ shouldn’t cry.

Aziraphale made himself shake off the stupor.

He needed to do something. From the look of them, the cut on Crowley’s head and the burn on his chest seemed to be the worst of his wounds. So the angel carefully put his hands over Crowley’s skin in those places, making sure not to press too hard. He took as much divine power as it was safe and poured it into the demon, instructing it to heal his friend.

He stayed like that for a long time, feeling with satisfaction that something was happening. It was working. The damaged skin under his palms became smooth again, and the swelling on the demon’s head lessened.

Aziraphale removed his hands and looked intently and worriedly at Crowley. It seemed that the demon’s face had become less ashen, and his aura no longer felt like it was going to fade away completely at any moment.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called. “Crowley, can you hear me?”

He opened a small flask of water that had hung on his belt ever since Monmouth—he didn’t really need to drink, but he kept it just in case of emergency.

This was an emergency.

He poured a bit of water on his sleeve and pressed it against Crowley’s forehead. Immediately the demon’s eyes opened wide in terror. He jerked his head away from the wet cloth and made a move to crawl backwards, but his body didn’t obey him, so he fell down panting and groaning.

He was muttering something incomprehensible, like:

“N…no– no, please! Water… No!..”

Aziraphale’s heart ached to see his friend like this. He resembled an injured bird that, as someone tried to help it, thrashed its wings, hurting itself even more.

“Crowley! Stop! Hey, it’s me! It’s Aziraphale!” He grabbed the demon’s shoulders firmly, carefully trying not to disturb his wounds.

“Wha… How?..”

“It’s me, I’m here! What happened?”

Crowley finally stopped his attempts to flee, but his gaze was still unfocused and it didn’t seem like he could see Aziraphale.

The angel took his hands off his shoulders and cupped both Crowley’s cheeks with his palms instead, trying to make eye contact at the same time.

“Now. Do you see me now? I’ve got you, Crowley. I’m here to help. But you must focus. What’s going on here?”

“They… rocks… They’ad rocks… And there were… many of them…”

Rocks… Okay, that made sense, with the bump on his head and all the bruises. But it didn’t explain the burns, or why Crowley hadn’t defended himself.

“Why didn’t you just make them leave?” Aziraphale asked. At the same time, he scooped the demon into his arms and lifted him from the ground. That took some effort, but Aziraphale still had a little magic to use after healing the demon.

“I asked ’em… Hey! What’a y’doin’?!”

“ _Asked?_ You _asked_ them not to throw stones at you? Why?” 

“’Cos it hurt, angel!”

“No, I meant… Ugh.”

Crowley was certainly in no condition to continue this conversation. So Aziraphale decided to just leave it for now.

He pushed open the door of the little house, which, as he now assumed, was rented by Crowley. It was rather empty inside, but there was a bed, fortunately, and Aziraphale lowered Crowley onto it, happy to be freed of the weight.

Now that Crowley was conscious, his features were even more twisted in pain than before. He buried the side of his face in the pillow and whimpered weakly.

“What is it, my dear? Tell me, where does it hurt? I want to help…”

“Everywhere… You can’t…”

Aziraphale frowned. He decided there must have been some more serious wounds he hadn’t noticed, hidden somewhere beneath Crowley’s clothing. He was just reaching to pull off Crowley’s shirt when he saw it…

The burn on Crowley’s chest that he had healed was there again.

“What the… What did this, Crowley?”

“Wa…water,” he breathed out.

“Water?” Aziraphale frowned. Then he looked at the burn again and froze. It finally dawned on him. “You mean _holy water_?”

“They took stones from the stream… Some… were wet. Didn’t realise till this one hit me. Exposed skin, y’know… I tried to drive them away, but then ju-ussst… blacked out.”

That was horrible. Not only had these people stoned Crowley to near death, but they could have killed his true form as well. They couldn’t possibly have known, but it was cruel anyway. But why…

“And why on earth didn’t you just use your powers on them? And… And why did they take stones from the holy spring?”

“They play there.”

“Play? What do you mean, _play_? Oh.”

He understood.

“Those were… children? Children did… _this_?” Aziraphale’s lips were moving silently, unable to form any more words.

Now it was all clear. No wonder Crowley hadn’t used his powers to defend himself. He could never hurt kids. Even a bit. That had always fascinated Aziraphale.

“Yeah. Little bastards.” Crowley gritted his teeth, and Aziraphale saw that he was trying to hold back more groans. Aziraphale hurriedly returned to the matter at hand.

“Listen, I’m going to take your shirt off, to see how bad it is, and what I can do.”

“You can’t do anything,” the demon said again, frustrated. “It’s holy water, your magic won’t recognise it as poison.”

“Can _your_ magic heal it?” Aziraphale asked, starting to get seriously worried.

“It might… The portion is not that big. But it’s eating away at m…my true form too, and it takes all I have to just neutralize it.”

“Okay. Just keep trying.”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s shirt at the neck and, with one forceful movement, tore the thin cloth apart. Crowley was too weak to protest.

His torso, shoulders and arms were covered with painful-looking bruises. Most of them were dark and small, but Aziraphale knew this kind well enough to understand that later they would turn into large inky stains.

“Can you do… my shoulder first?” asked Crowley, sounding a little bit embarrassed despite the pain. Or, maybe, he was embarrassed to feel pain in front of Aziraphale? The angel’s heart ached at the thought.

He turned to the demon’s right shoulder. The wound was on the back of it, so Aziraphale had to lift his companion a bit.

“Oh, Crowley..!”

“What?”

“It’s… burning…”

“Shit. I thought so… Hoped, maybe, it was just some scratch…”

It was not a scratch. It was the furthest thing from a scratch that Aziraphale had seen in a long time. The black and red burn on the pale skin looked like a fire in a dry field. The edges of it were taking over new territory, millimetre by millimetre. Then Crowley apparently made an effort, healing the wound and pushing it away. But he was too weak to banish it completely.

Then Aziraphale turned Crowley to his side and checked the burn on the small of his back. As he had feared, it had become larger too.

Aziraphale had already managed to heal one burn, at least for a short period. Maybe if he could sustain Crowley’s corporation for a while, it would give the demon time to gain more strength for healing his true form. He poured some more angelic power into the burns on Crowley’s chest and shoulder. After a while, they healed. At least, it looked like it.

“How do you feel?” he asked worriedly.

Crowley moaned in pleasure. “Nice.”

“You don’t look nice, you know?”

“Thankss a lot.”

“Okay, try to rest a bit, but don’t fall asleep. You’ll need to heal yourself as soon as you can, and I fear that if you fall asleep too deeply, you won’t be able to wake up on time.”

“I’m tired…”

“I know, my dear. I’m sorry. I’ll go out to look for some herbs that may help. I’ll be right back.”

Crowley didn’t answer. He probably couldn’t even hear him, Aziraphale thought; as soon as the angel’s hands had left his skin, he succumbed to blissful sleep. Poor thing. Aziraphale hesitated but decided not to wake him. Maybe it was for the best, he thought, as he covered Crowley with a thin blanket that lay at the foot of the bed. Crowley needed rest if he were to heal himself.

As soon as Aziraphale stood up, he realized that he needed it too. He felt lightheaded from exhaustion. Healing required a lot of energy, and healing a demon’s corporation that was being destroyed from the inside at the same time was like watering a garden in the middle of the desert.

Speaking of gardens. Trying to walk straight, Aziraphale went out of the house. The garden was overrun with weeds; behind the house there was a thicket of bushes. While the angel was picking raspberry and currant leaves and berries to make a drink for Crowley and himself, he noticed some movement on the other side of the fence. He carefully drew closer and suddenly saw two green eyes looking at him through the gap in the fence where it lacked a stone. Aziraphale gasped. But the stranger jumped into the grass at once and ran away. Aziraphale looked through the hole and saw him stop several metres away and hide in another clump of bushes.

Aziraphale sighed and went back into the house.

***

It’d been quite hard to make a fire in the small heath, but it had been worth the effort. Not only because he’d managed to make the drink, but also because the sun was setting, and Crowley had started to shiver slightly in his sleep under the thin blanket.

Aziraphale frowned and sat on the edge of Crowley’s bed. Holding a mug of hot herbal drink in one hand, he gently touched Crowley’s shoulder with the other.

“Crowley?” he called. And then a little bit louder. “Crowley! Please, my dear, you need to wake up.”

Crowley’s eyelids fluttered slightly, and he opened his eyes with what looked like an inhuman effort.

“Good. Very good, my dear. Now, drink this.”

Crowley obediently tried to take a sip from the mug Aziraphale had brought to his lips. He swallowed once, and on the second time spilt the drink and started to cough painfully.

Aziraphale lifted the demon a bit to help him breathe normally again. But then he made a second try with the mug. This time Crowley managed to make three decent sips before falling back against the pillows, utterly exhausted.

Aziraphale frowned worriedly, and then took a wet cloth and wiped the sweat from Crowley’s forehead. The demon opened his eyes again and looked at Aziraphale.

“Angel?” he croaked. “You look awful.”

“Look who’s talking.” Aziraphale smiled weakly.

“No, seriously… you need to have something too…”

“I will. Later.”

Crowley was breathing too heavily again. His writhen fingers were trying to clutch the sheets and failing. Aziraphale knew the demon was struggling not to show his agony. He came up to him and took the blanket off. Crowley shivered violently.

“No! What are you doing?!” he protested.

“Your burn has opened up again.”

“Yeah… But you’ve hardly any magic left. You can’t help me… You’ll just kill yourself.”

“But–”

“It’s stupid.”

“All right, all right, I’ll wait. But not long…”

Aziraphale covered Crowley again and sat down next to him. He made himself a drink and sipped it slowly, never taking his eyes off Crowley.

The demon was shaking badly, even though it was hot in the room. He was thrashing about and whimpering faintly from time to time.

Aziraphale couldn’t bear it for more than five minutes. He came up to the tortured demon again, intending to do everything he could to lessen his pain.

But before he could raise his hand, Crowley suddenly whispered through his parched lips:

“Holy water…”

He was delirious, the poor dear.

“Yes, Crowley, I know. It’s fatal…”

“For me…” Crowley continued hoarsely. He tried to open his eyes, but it seemed to be too hard.

“Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be okay. Just keep fighting, please!”

“No… You don’t… Holy water…”

Aziraphale’s heart was breaking. Crowley was trying to tell him something, probably to let him know how horribly he was suffering from the thing that had once brought Aziraphale such joy, from the thing Aziraphale _himself_ had helped to preserve in this village. He felt tears starting to sting his eyes. _It was his fault too_. 

He took a deep breath and put his hands on Crowley’s wound, ready to give everything to make it right. But Crowley’s bony fingers suddenly grabbed his wrist and pushed him away with his last ounce of strength.

“Ssstop… it! Angel! Listen…”

Aziraphale was dumbfounded. He was blinking at Crowley, who’d opened his eyes to look at him. Crowley’s eyes, from corner to corner, were filled with liquid amber, and his slitted pupils looked like desperate trembling flies trapped inside. This gaze – half-feverish, half-earnest – made Aziraphale focus.

“What?”

“Bring. Holy. Water,” Crowley said seriously, looking him straight in the eye.

For a short moment, Aziraphale felt an icy fist clench around his heart as he thought Crowley was asking him to kill him quickly. But then, as if having read Aziraphale’s mind, Crowley rolled his eyes and added:

“For yourself…”

“Oh.”

He realized. Crowley was telling him what to do to recover his _own_ powers. And then, maybe, he would be able to help the demon.

“Oh,” he repeated. “That might help.”

Why hadn’t he thought of it himself? Aziraphale knew why – because he’d been thinking of the holy water from Crowley’s point of view. It was a poison, a threat, not a blessing. Except for Aziraphale it was different.

When Crowley saw Aziraphale had understood, he closed his eyes again and fell onto the pillows, utterly drained.

Aziraphale was shocked. Even in such a state, through the haze of pain and fear, Crowley was thinking about Aziraphale. Even if he was just trying to find a way for the angel to save him, he still managed to think of how Aziraphale could get better, instead of just expecting him to spend all his powers on Crowley.

Aziraphale didn’t know if it would help, but there was a good chance it would.

There was just one problem. He didn’t want to leave Crowley alone. He was afraid. He was afraid that somebody would sneak into the house and harm Crowley when he was so vulnerable. And he was almost even more terrified that Crowley would just die while he was away. He couldn’t leave him. Not with all those nasty little people hovering around.

And then he had an idea.

Before leaving the room, he gave Crowley a bit more of his healing power, just enough for the demon to stop shaking so horribly. Crowley’s features relaxed slightly and he took a deep breath.

“There you go. I’ll be right back, my dear, don’t you worry.” Crowley probably didn’t hear him, but Aziraphale needed these reassuring words. In a way, they were more for himself than for Crowley.

Aziraphale went out, swaying a bit and feeling nausea building up inside him.

He focused on his destination, hoping that his plan would work. As soon as he spotted the movement behind the low fence he shouted:

“Oi! Wait!” He ran, stumbling, towards the edge of the garden, hoping that he’d make it in time. “I want to have a word with you!”  
  


Aziraphale stopped by the fence, breathing heavily, and listened. The footsteps had stopped as well. It was a good sign. He looked through the gap in the fence and saw a red-haired head in the long grass. Aziraphale looked around himself and found a short log of wood nearby. He dragged it closer to the fence and climbed on top of it.

Now that his head and chest were above the fence, he could better see the boy hiding in the grass. The boy could see him too. He gasped and jumped to his feet, ready to run off, but Aziraphale was faster.

“Please!” he cried again. “I need your help. Let me talk to you?”

The boy hesitated, looking at Aziraphale. Then, probably convinced by his honest and desperate expression, he slowly approached the fence.

“Is it the demon?” he asked with a frown.

“What?” Aziraphale didn’t expect to be addressed to so suddenly and so directly.

“The demon we fought. I saw it; the body isn’t there. He has survived and captured you, hasn’t he?”

“Oh! No, no, no! It’s not that. I’m just fine. I mean, no. I’m not, I’m not feeling well. I need some water from the Holy Spring to get better. Can you bring it to me?”

“Hah!” The boy smirked unpleasantly, and Aziraphale thought he would run off again, this time for good. But he didn’t. Instead, he continued in a conspiratorial voice, “I know what you need it for.”

“You do?”

“Yes! Holy water. It kills demons. You’re going to finish him, right?”

Aziraphale sighed. Even a child thought he should kill Crowley. Was something wrong with him, or was something wrong with the world? Had children always been so cruel?

“What’s your name, dear boy?”

“Maelan.”

“Listen, Maelan. I will explain everything to you later. But now I just need the water. Can you fetch it for me?”

“And who exactly are you?”

“I… My name is Aziraphale. I used to know Father Joseph, who lived in this village.”

“Father Joseph? He’s a saint!”

“He was a very good man,” Aziraphale agreed with a nod. He was getting more and more nervous with each passing second, his thoughts never leaving Crowley.

“He died a long time ago. And you’re saying you knew him? Are you a saint too?”

“Sort of…” Aziraphale said. He wondered for a moment if old Joseph would have let a demon die, and he was very sure that he wouldn’t.

“Okay then. I’ll bring you the water.”

“Thank you! Oh, thank you! That’s very kind of you. Here, take my flask.”

“Oh, no!” Maelan laughed. “It won’t be enough to drown a demon. I’ll take my aunt’s bucket. It’s on the way.”

“A bucket? Well, maybe it’s a good idea. Just please, hurry up!”

“I know!”

“Bring it to the house, but don’t come in. It might be dangerous.” Aziraphale wasn’t lying, it really _was_ dangerous. For Crowley.

“Deal,” the boy said and ran away.

Aziraphale returned to the house. Crowley was still unconscious, his chest rising and falling with visible effort.

The most frightening thing was that Aziraphale had no way of knowing what state Crowley’s true form was in. He could heal as well as see only his human body. He could give Crowley breathing space, a chance to get himself together and heal his true form. But he didn’t know if Crowley was actually doing as he said, if he hadn’t given up yet. He could try and feel for the demon’s aura, of course, but it would be violating Crowley’s privacy, which they tried never to do to each other. Besides, even if he could see the state Crowley’s soul was in, he wouldn’t be able to fix it. He was helpless.

“Crowley?” he called again, hating to disturb the demon. “Crowley, please, stay with me! You need to hold on, you need to fight. Please!”

He touched Crowley’s shoulder slightly, and the demon’s eyes fluttered open.

“Thanksss. I started to drift off… Brought it?”

“No. I sent someone for it.”

“Oh…” He seemed disappointed.

“He’ll bring it, my dear, don’t worry!” Aziraphale hurried to assure him.

“Well, if you think so… Listen, the sleep let me save a bit... I mean... After I heal it on the inside, it will take energy from my corporation. It will… I will… er… well, need help… If…if…if that water works, heal me again, and let me sleep for… How long was it this time?”

“About ten minutes.”

“Right. And then wake me up again… It might help.” Crowley suddenly looked very embarrassed. “Can you… do it?”

“Of course, Crowley! Why are you even asking?”

“Well… I… You don’t have to. It’s a bother. And I… it’s my fault anyway.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It is. You don’t know it… It is… Think about it, when you’ll be healing me. No… Think _before_ you start healing me.”

His eyes had that feverish glow of determination, which some dying people have before the end. But Aziraphale refused to think of it this way. He just nodded seriously and squeezed his shoulder.

“Alright. I will be thinking about it. I know who you are, Crowley. Don’t think that I don’t. But sometimes such things don’t really matter.”

“Only sometimes,” Crowley repeated with a strange expression. Aziraphale frowned. He shouldn’t allow Crowley to talk so much.

“You’d better use your strength to heal yourself, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale went up the window nervously.

“I have to do it now…” Crowley said after a moment. “If I don’t, the powers will try to mend my corporation instead.”

“But I…”

“I know! Don’t do anything until the water arrives. You hear?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could give such a promise. But Crowley was looking at him with those feverish eyes, and he couldn’t keep him waiting.

“Yes. Right. I’m sure he’s close.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the little amount of magic he had. Aziraphale saw his face distort in pain. Then his eyes suddenly snapped open and he screamed.

Aziraphale rushed forward, dropped by the edge of the bed and grabbing Crowley’s hand. It was burning.

“Oh, no! Crowley! Hold on! Hold on, stay with me!”

Crowley could hardly breathe, and when he turned away from Aziraphale and coughed, his mouth left a small streak of red on the pillow.

“Angel… Assss-sssiraph… that’ssss it…that’ssss it…”

“No, no, no! Nothing’s over, Crowley! It’s just your body. Hang on… I can–”

“No!” Crowley protested weakly. “You promised you wouldn’t.” He whimpered quietly like a wounded dog.

Aziraphale couldn’t bear it anymore. He jumped to his feet, running his fingers through his hair, utterly desperate. He stepped to the window again, and then he saw him.

Maelan was walking down the path, not really hurrying, but holding a bucket which seemed to be rather heavy in his hand.

Aziraphale let out a breath and rushed to the doors. It was hard for him to run, but he still tried to move as quickly as he could. He met the boy halfway and all but tore the bucket out of his hands.

“Thank you!” he said, breathing heavily. “You saved a life today, Maelan. Maybe even two… Now, go home, please. I’ll finish the rest.”

“I’ll need the bucket back,” Maelan protested quickly, probably having thought of the excuse in advance.

“Of course, of course. Come back tomorrow, I’ll return it to you. In one piece.”

“I hope so,” the boy said, disappointed. He took a couple of steps after Aziraphale, but probably the gravity of Aziraphale’s expression and the urgency of his actions made him think better of it. He shrugged and turned away.

Aziraphale couldn’t wait to try. He didn’t want to touch the water with his hands because that would mean more risk for Crowley. So as soon as he got into the house he grabbed a cup and carefully scooped some water.

With a quick prayer, he drank it and froze, waiting for any sort of effect. In the next room, Crowley screamed in agony. Aziraphale shuddered, feeling the tears of disappointment and helplessness already welling in his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2.

And then it happened. The water kicked in like a torrent of healing energy rushing through his veins. Aziraphale gasped.

It was strange that he had never actually drunk truly holy water before. He had never needed to. But today he did.

He relished the wonderful feeling of power filling him again to the brim, felt his exhaustion giving way to strength, and hope, and life – oh, so much life he could easily share it with someone. And there was just the right someone in the next room.

Aziraphale made sure to evaporate any traces of holy water that could be left on his hands or lips and ran to Crowley’s bed.

The demon didn’t move or open his eyes. He was nearly silent, lying on the bed, his breathing shallow. His face was ashen and slick with sweat, and his grey lips were trembling slightly. When Aziraphale lifted the blanket, he saw that the burn was now so deep and wide that it was probably only millimetres away from Crowley’s heart.

Aziraphale didn’t lose a second. He directed almost the whole amount of freshly returned power into Crowley’s wounds, hoping that it wasn’t too late.

A visible tremor went through Crowley’s whole body, and the horrible burns started to disappear, leaving the skin smooth once again.

Crowley still didn’t open his eyes, and it frightened Aziraphale. He had to know if his friend was sleeping or unconscious. He cupped Crowley’s cheek gently with his palm and brushed his thumb over the unnaturally pale cheekbone.

“Crowley,” he called him. “I’m sorry, dear boy, I need to know if you’re there. Please, wake up?”

He used just a little bit of magic to wake the demon. Crowley winced and cracked his eyes open. Aziraphale sighed in relief.

“Angel?.. You… okay?”

“Am I?.. Wha… Of course, _I_ am okay!” But then he remembered that Crowley had instructed him not to heal him unless he managed to refill his magic. “Oh. Don’t worry, it worked. The holy water. You can rest now, and then heal yourself. And I will be here to mend you. Right?”

“Yeah…” Crowley blinked instead of nodding. It hurt Aziraphale to see Crowley like this, so utterly exhausted, vulnerable and in pain. But at the same time, he knew that Crowley was not giving up or succumbing to self-pity. The way Crowley saw it, it was just bad luck, just another necessary risk he had to take because of his job. Well, maybe not so necessary, but still. Supposing he made it to tomorrow, Aziraphale knew that Crowley would see it as a much better day. And all the days after that would be better. He would be pleased to see them. That was the thing about Crowley.

Aziraphale let go of his cheek and ran a gentle hand over Crowley’s hair, caressing it ever so slightly. The demon probably didn’t notice anything as he closed his eyes and fell asleep in a moment.

Aziraphale went to the front room where he had left the bucket of water and drank another cupful. Again, he was surprised at how miraculous the effect was. Then he went back to waiting for Crowley to wake up again.

They meticulously carried out the plan Crowley had suggested and, slowly and painfully, it worked. 

Crowley’s sleep was becoming more and more peaceful, the burns becoming smaller and smaller each time. He was tired, of course, but he didn’t complain or give up—just looked at Aziraphale silently while the angel healed him, and Aziraphale saw shame and enormous gratitude in those golden eyes. He wanted to tell Crowley it was okay, that he had nothing to be ashamed of. He had done a good thing, leaving those children be for no reason other than being unable to hurt kids. But Aziraphale knew better than to say such things to Crowley. Instead, he just patted him on the shoulder lightly and left to drink another cup of water, feeling that, otherwise, he would do something inappropriate. Like hugging his demonic fr… companion, whom he had almost lost. 

He was tired too. From worrying more than from healing. Although healing was hard too. It felt as if most of his power was going into an endless void, pointlessly.

But now he knew it was not true. Crowley was getting better.

The water in the bucket was running low until, finally, Aziraphale took the last sip, hoping that it would be enough.

It was. After this last session, the burn on Crowley’s chest finally stopped appearing. The other, lesser ones, had vanished a couple of sessions before.

Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief. He used his last miracle to put protective spells on the house and fell down on the chair, joining Crowley in blissful sleep.

***

The next day Aziraphale woke up absolutely shattered. He stretched his limbs and allowed himself a quick miracle to refresh himself before he even opened his eyes. He almost immediately regretted it when he saw Crowley.

No, the demon was fine, compared to his state yesterday. None of the burns had opened up again. But he still looked impossibly pale and weak, and the bruises that had seemed a small problem yesterday, today were flourishing on his skin in blue, green and purple blossoms.

Crowley opened his eyes some time later, after Aziraphale had made some more herbal drink for both of them and prepared some other herbs for Crowley’s wounds in case his magic wouldn’t be enough.

“Oh, hello there,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale without turning his head.

“Hi…” he said hoarsely.

“How do you feel?”

“Dunno… M’afraid to move… anything.”

“I don’t blame you!” Aziraphale huffed. He came up to Crowley and put a palm on his forehead. Crowley closed his eyes. “No fever. That’s good.”

“That’s blissss,” Crowley agreed in a whisper, and Aziraphale felt a sharp pang of sympathy in his heart. The demon didn’t know what real bliss was, didn’t remember. And to mistake the absence of pain for it…

Aziraphale couldn’t help but run his hand over Crowley’s hair once again before turning away. He didn’t know if Crowley noticed.

“Do you think you could drink something?” He asked, returning to him with a cup.

“Not sure. My insides are not extremely stable yet.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be fine,” Crowley hurried to assure him. He paused and added: “Thanks to you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, really.”

“No, I mean it. I would have died. It could have de… desssstroyed me.” Crowley shuddered and winced at the painful movement.  
  
“Please, don’t talk about it,” Aziraphale begged. “I don’t want to think about it. It’s over. Well, almost. Let’s deal with your bruises, instead. You’re clearly in pain.”

“Ah, it’s not pain, just mild inconvenience.”

“Fine, but you don’t have to feel it, right? May I?” Aziraphale nodded at the blanket as if he hadn’t taken it off more than once yesterday.

Crowley smirked mischievously.

“Sure. If that what you want.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Crowley had spent too much time with humans. What kind of joke was this, really? But at least he was trying to joke.

Aziraphale shook his head and removed the blanket to start the healing.

When he gingerly touched one of the worst-looking bruises on Crowley’s chest, tracing his finger along the thin groove between the ribs, Crowley inhaled sharply.

“Sorry. Looks like there’s a crack in this one.” Aziraphale quickly removed his fingers and covered the painful spot with his palm instead, brushing the skin gently.

He felt Crowley relax under his touch as the angelic magic healed the wound in his human corporation.

“That’s better,” Aziraphale muttered, turning to the next injury.

He tried not to even touch the delicate clavicle that had been either broken or seriously bruised by a sharp stone that had also left a short cut. Aziraphale poured healing energy into the wound, watching as the blood and swelling miraculously disappeared and Crowley’s skin turned milky-pale and unmarked again. Compared to how difficult it had been for Aziraphale to heal the holy water burns the day before, this healing seemed too quick and easy. He almost couldn’t believe it. So his fingers reached out of their own accord and gently traced the length of Crowley’s collarbone. It was soft, and warm, and alive, oh, so alive it trembled slightly under his fingertips.

Aziraphale was happy.

Then he looked up and saw that Crowley was watching him. There was surprise on his face, but also joy, and relief, and gratitude. It was amazing how many things those wonderful amber eyes could show at a time.

Aziraphale shook himself. He smiled at Crowley and explained:

“Can’t believe it’s working.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

After he had finished with the bruises on Crowley’s front side, he helped him to rise a bit and switched to his back. It was only then that Crowley dared to speak.

“It was my fault, angel. It really was my own fault. I want you to know.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale replied slowly. “And what did you do to make a bunch of kids so angry?”

“They’re not just some kids. They’re damn patriots.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They were protecting their land.”

“And you?” prompted Aziraphale.

“I was just doing my job.”

“Of course you were. As always.”

He felt a tight knot under the skin on Crowley’s back, and the demon squeaked faintly. 

“I’m sorry.” He removed the knot gently.

“I was called back to Hell and told that I was becoming lazy. Too few truly demonic deeds, especially compared to all that holiness that your lot had been spreading around here. They said you were cheating – making these holy springs and wells all over Europe, especially in the uncivilized territories, far from our sight. And they were right! How am I supposed to tempt and corrupt people who see divine miracles every day?”

“And…?” Aziraphale’s hands stopped their work as he waited in fear for Crowley’s answer.

“And they ordered me to destroy the spring,” Crowley finished sharply.

“Destroy the spring?!” Aziraphale had guessed it was something like that, but it was still shocking. “But it’s all these people have, you know it, right?”

“Well, they’ve had it for a long time already, that should have been enough! Maybe they even have jars of water stored in their cellars. Humans are cunning,” snapped Crowley. “I had no choice,” he went on in a lower voice. “Beelz told me I’d be demoted otherwise, as there was no use to be had in keeping me here. They were going to lock me up in the deepest pit and make me push papers till the End of Times. Or worse – make me torture some poor buggers I’d temped while I was up here. I’m not sure I’d…”

Crowley’s still-bruised back visibly shuddered.

Aziraphale sighed. Although Crowley’s actions were hideous, he was not sure that a magic spring was worth sacrificing this particular demon for. After all, there were probably a dozen such springs in Britain alone, and there was only one Crowley.

Aziraphale healed the last of the bruises on Crowley’s back and helped him lie down again. Crowley looked visibly relieved to do so.

“Didn’t they think it was dangerous?” Aziraphale asked, shaking his head. Crowley’s face was still pale with the effort it had taken him to stay upright for a short while. “It’s not a one-man job, for a start!”

Crowley snorted.

“And who would want to have come with me, I wonder?”

Aziraphale was going to say that Crowley could have asked him for help, but stopped himself. He knew why he hadn’t. He saw it on the demon’s face now. Crowley was ashamed of what he’d done. Despite hating angels and their methods, despite loving the game of temptation and corruption, he still was not pleased with depriving poor people of their only precious joy. And he hadn’t wanted Aziraphale to know that he’d do something like that.

“Next time, you’d better tell me. If something has to be done anyway, we’d better do it with as little damage as possible. Right?”

“Right… Thanks, angel.”

“It’s alright; you would have done the same for me.” Then Aziraphale froze, realising that he was not entirely sure if that was true. He turned back to Crowley. “Would you? Do the same?”

“Sure!” Crowley even leaned forward a bit to stress his words. Aziraphale let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. Then Crowley added with a sly smile. “But, only because I’m selfish and I would prefer to have you around for another five thousand years or so. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. He was about to say something else when he heard noises from the direction of the front door. Someone was clearly trying to get in, but was repeatedly being thrown back by the protective spell.

Aziraphale cast another spell around Crowley’s bed and headed towards the door.

“Angel, wait! Maybe they’ll just go away,” Crowley called after him.

“No, I want to talk to them,” Aziraphale said on his way.

When Aziraphale came out of the house, he saw Maelan sitting on the grass, a bunch of other kids about his age or older gathered around him and looking down in concern. The protective spell had clearly been effective, but the boy was perfectly fine, just embarrassed. When Aziraphale appeared in the doorway, every head turned towards him.

“You!” Maelan gasped and jumped to his feet. “You’re alive! Did you kill him?”

“Hello, my friends,” Aziraphale started calmly. “Would you like to come inside and talk? You helped me a lot yesterday, and I feel like I owe you an explanation of some sort.”

He opened the door and gestured for the group of kids to come in. They hesitated.

“How do we know that you are really Aziraphale? Maybe the demon killed him and took his face?”

“Hm, well, I could prove it to you. Has anyone got any weapons against demons?”

“Yes! We’ve brought holy water, Tim and Fair have more rocks, and Ronnie took his father’s cross.”

“I thought so. Good. Very reasonable of you. Now you, young lady, and you, mister, give me your rocks.” He stretched out his hands, waiting for the children to come closer. They did and cautiously put the rocks in his open palms, as if expecting them to scorch. Aziraphale held the rocks for a few moments, showing the children that they were harmless to him. Then he miracled all the water from them and tossed them onto the ground.

“Now my hands are dirty. Which of you has the water?”

The children were watching closely as Maelan and other boy poured holy water on Aziraphale’s hands. He made sure to evaporate it afterwards.

“Okay. So, what’s left? Ronnie, is it? What were you going to do with the cross?”

“Stick it into his chest,” answered a timid, thin boy. He looked as if he would have difficulty sticking a knife into a steak.

“Oh. No, let’s not try that, okay?” Aziraphale suggested.

The kids nodded. Then Aziraphale waved his hand again, and one by one they entered the house. The angel glanced nervously at the door of the room where Crowley was lying, but it was quiet there, and he knew that the spell would protect him well.

Aziraphale took a seat on an old wooden chest that stood by the door, and the children sat down on the floor.

“Now,” Aziraphale said. “Here’s what I wanted to tell you. I know that yesterday you were protecting your village from a person who was going to harm it.”

“He wasn’t _going to_ , he _was_ harming it. We saw him when he was throwing a full cart of earth into the Holy Spring! And we caught him when he was digging earth for the second cart,” Maelan interrupted, as if waiting for approval.

“That’s right. And your actions certainly show how devoted you are to your land. But still…” Aziraphale paused and made sure to look every one of the children in the eye. “What you did was cruel. Unforgivably so.”

“What?!!”

“What do you mean?!”

“Have you heard what I said?” the children shouted in unison, and Aziraphale knew that, next door, Crowley must be hearing every word. He sighed, waiting for the storm to end. Then he raised his hand.

“Now, listen. Yes, you heard me right; I said that however important and just the deed seems to you, you should never do it if it is cruel. If it brings pain and sorrow to another living being.”

“He’s not a living being, he’s a demon!”

“Demons feel pain and sorrow as much as you and I do. Besides, you happened to find the most painful, the most dangerous thing for demons in the universe. Just look…”

Aziraphale carefully opened the door to Crowley’s room and let them in one by one.

As soon as Crowley heard the creaking of the door, he jumped a little on his bed and then scrambled to sit upright. There was so much vulnerability and all the defensiveness of a cornered animal in his position that Aziraphale couldn’t help but walk quickly forward and sit on his bed, placing himself between Crowley and the children.

The children themselves looked frightened, but also angry. They hadn’t expected the friend of Joseph to have spared the evil demon. They stood nervously near the door, ready to run off at any time.

“Aziraphale? What’s going on?” Crowley asked, his voice tense.

“Don’t worry, Crowley. I just want to explain to these young people that you are not a threat to them or their village and that they were wrong to attack you.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, looking from one angry face to another. “Okay, go ahead. This is gonna be fun.”

“Sit down, kids,” Aziraphale invited, gesturing at the narrow bench by the hearth. The children shuffled their feet, but finally curiosity got the better of them and they looked at Maelan for approval. Their leader nodded, and they sat, eyes never leaving Aziraphale and Crowley.

“That’s better!” Aziraphale grinned. “So, you already know that my name is Aziraphale. And his name is Crowley. You were right to think that he was a demon. But have you ever thought _why_ he had to destroy your spring?”

“Yes!” Crowley interrupted, looking sullenly at the children. “Did you think at all before attacking an innocent man?”

“You’re technically not a man,” noted Aziraphale.

“And you’re not innocent,” added Maelan.

“Okay, an unarmed man…shaped being then!” Crowley wasn’t going to give up.

“You _had_ a shovel, though,” Aziraphale tilted his head. “To say nothing of your demonic powers.”

“Oi! Whose side are you on, angel? A little sympathy for a dying man wouldn’t hurt. Even if he has done some bad deeds.”

Aziraphale smiled; Crowley had this weird habit of referring to himself as a human from time to time when it could be useful. He wondered if he did it on purpose.

“Wait. Did you say he had _demonic powers_?” asked one of the girls.

“Obviously he has, he is a demon, for Satan’s sake!” Crowley spat with delight, watching the children shudder.

“Yes, but the thing is: he didn’t use them on you!” Aziraphale hurriedly argued. He saw Crowley roll his eyes. “He could have done something to you, but he didn’t. Because he didn’t want to hurt you. He is different–”

“Aye, evil!” interrupted Maelan. Unlike his companions who were already starting to warm to Aziraphale, the leader was holding his ground. “He was destroying our Spring. My granny is sick, this water is the only thing that gives her strength.”

“I’m so sorry, Maelan. But Crowley… He didn’t do it because he’s evil. He was just doing his job.” A sudden inspiration flooded Aziraphale and, looking at all the children now, he asked, “Don’t your parents ever do something that you think isn’t nice, but they tell you it’s their job?”

The children sat silently, but then little Fair squeaked:

“Sophie’s father is a butcher. He kills all those poor animals. It’s awful!”

“Right, you see!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “It is awful, but he has to do it. Otherwise, Sophie and his other children would die of hunger.”

“Do you have children?” Fair asked, addressing Crowley.

Crowley made a face. Aziraphale punched him in the side lightly and said:

“Oh no, he can’t be let near children.”

“I wouldn’t want to!”  
  
“You see, he’s like a child himself.” Aziraphale smiled and some of the kids chuckled timidly too.

Then Aziraphale went on seriously again.

“You saw what holy water did to Crowley? I barely nursed him back to life. It’s fatal for demons. So it would be understandable if he wanted to destroy the thing that produces a deadly poison for him. It’s not even the same as killing animals for food – it’s more like killing wolves that come to your village. Like cutting down a bush whose berries are poisonous. Wouldn’t you want to do it to protect yourself and your people?”

Some of the children nodded their heads. Crowley snorted.

“But Crowley didn’t,” Aziraphale said. “He didn’t do it to defend himself; he did it only because he was ordered. His superiors made him do it. And he will be punished cruelly if he doesn’t do it. Like the lord could punish Sophie’s father if he didn’t bring meat to his table, right?” Aziraphale felt the bed move a little under him and knew that Crowley had tried to suppress a shudder. “But Crowley still let you beat him rather than shoo you away with a miracle. Do you see now that Crowley isn’t evil at all?”

The children nodded eagerly, sympathy written all over their little faces. Even Maelan lowered his head gloomily.

“Never in my life have I felt such humiliation,” Crowley grumbled, but Aziraphale heard his voice break in the middle of the line.

“And do you see that what you did was cruel?” Aziraphale went on, ignoring him. “You shouldn’t have done it. Not only because he didn’t deserve it, but also because being cruel harms your own soul. Father Joseph would have never approved of that.”

The angel saw tears glistening in the girls’ eyes and decided it was time to wind up.

“Now, fortunately, everything ended well, so the only thing you need to do is ask Crowley to forgive you for hurting him, and Crowley needs to ask your forgiveness for spoiling the Spring. Right, dear?”

Aziraphale expected Crowley to be outraged, but he simply nodded.

“I’m sorry, guys,” he said awkwardly. “I’m not very happy with myself for pushing you to do it. I’d really prefer it to be your parents. You still have time to make up for it, while they would have gone sssstraight to Hell!” Crowley grinned, baring his teeth maliciously. The children gasped, and one of them even let out a scream and jumped to his feet.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished.

“Sorry! Sorry, just kidding,” Crowley laughed, enjoying the children’s frightened faces. “Couldn’t resist. But seriously. It was a bad thing to do – to try and take the Spring from you, your grandmothers and all. But I’m a demon, and Aziraphale here is right: I _have_ to do bad things. Not that I would like to do _good_ things instead, no. I’d prefer not to do anything at all. But I have to. I’m sorry. Probably a time will come when you’ll have to do something bad too. I’ll tell you what: do it only of your own free will. Because you _can_ choose. And it’s a privilege. Oh, yes, and sorry.”

Crowley became silent, and Aziraphale knew this was it – this was the biggest apology one could ever get out of Crowley. So he turned to the kids.

“We are sorry too,” Maelan said first, and Aziraphale admired the boy’s courage; it was not easy for a leader to admit his fault in front of his gang. “We attacked you without even trying to understand what’s what. It’s not clever. And it’s not right.”

“Yes, please forgive me, Mister Crowley!”

“And me too…”

“We are sorry, Mister Crowley.”

“Sorryyy!”

The children’s voices were so pitiful that Aziraphale felt a tear escape the corner of his eye. He looked at Crowley. The demon’s eyes were unusually bright too, and he was smiling despite himself.

“Apology accepted,” he said finally. The children sighed with relief and looked at Aziraphale for approval. The angel nodded his head and smiled.

“But… What will happen now?” Sophie asked, looking at Crowley with such concern, as if he were a stray and sick kitten that she’d brought home while knowing that that as soon as her parents came home they’d throw it away into a cold and dark street. “If you don’t destroy the Spring, your bosses will still punish you, won’t they?”

The children gasped again, this time in fear for Crowley.

“I’m afraid so,” Crowley said. Aziraphale looked at him and then at the children who were obviously expecting the angel to perform some kind of miracle to save the day. He felt so much love and strength and inspiration at that moment that he thought he could probably bless an entirely new Spring. And then he had an idea.

“They won’t punish him if he does what he has to do,” he said slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“What would you say, kids, if we let Crowley fill the spring with earth as he’d intended, but then, after his superiors are satisfied, we’ll clear it again?”

“You could do that?” Crowley asked very quietly, unable to allow himself hope.

“I feel that I might have the power, yes. Or if it’s not enough, I’ll ask Heavens for help. But only if the people of the village agree.” Aziraphale looked at the children meaningfully. They realised that they were being treated seriously, like proper adults and even straightened up a bit.

Maelan turned to the others and leaned a bit closer, as if that could make the discussion more private. At once, the smaller kids started nodding enthusiastically, the older ones giving Crowley and Aziraphale serious glances and then blinking at Maelan conspiratorially.

“We agree,” said Maelan, “if you can guarantee that the Holy Spring will still work.”

“It will.”

“Okay then, we’ll help you. Right, guys?”

“Sure!”

“Yeah!”

“We will.”

“Thank you,” Crowley whispered faintly. Aziraphale saw that the poor demon had had too many overwhelming emotions for one day, and a few minutes later he saw the kids out and agreed to meet the next day.

When he returned to Crowley’s room, his friend was already sleeping, exhausted by all the worries and pain of the last days. He hadn’t even thought to cover himself.

Aziraphale came up to the bed and carefully tucked up Crowley’s blanket.

***  
  


The next morning, before dawn, Crowley was digging the earth in the garden again, filling cart after cart. Aziraphale didn’t let him go anywhere near the Holy Spring. Instead, Aziraphale took the carts from him and brought them to the kids, who emptied them into the little pond where the stream rose. Ronnie stood guard, looking out for any passersby. When the sun rose, a villager or two came by, but Aziraphale was quick to meet them and engage them in conversations about St Joseph, the village and whatever else came to mind.

A couple of hours later, the pond and the stream had turned into a pit of mud. Crowley noticed that Aziraphale had stopped overseeing the process a couple of carts before, returning to Crowley sooner and spending more time with him instead. He felt a bit guilty about hurting the angel’s feelings even though he’d suggested this plan himself.

Then the kids came up to Crowley, streaked with mud but happy that they’d managed to help.

Crowley knew that meant he had to meet Hastur. Hastur, the Duke of Hell, was his supervisor on Earth. He didn’t really like Earth or supervising all that much, but he seemed to find special pleasure in supervising Crowley in particular. Hastur was waiting for him to slip up, and Crowley knew it. But Hastur, like other demons of his kind, had never really understood how the Earth worked. And one of the aspects of that was the fact that he didn’t understand time. He thought Crowley was to be supervised every two hundred years or so.

Unfortunately, this was one such occasion.

Crowley decided not to call Hastur himself. If he did, it would mean that he’d managed to do his job, and Hastur would know it straight away. It would be much more fun to let him think that Crowley had failed and was waiting for his punishment. As Crowley had predicted, the Duke of Hell arrived all gleeful and gloating, expecting to see a Crowley who would tremble in fear before him and finally bend his neck.

Instead, Hastur saw his eternal rival, the pain in his ducal arse, sitting calmly on the rock near the bank of a muddy swamp and watching a crowd of people lamenting the loss of their precious holy water.

“That’s a really impressive job, Crawly,” Hastur snarled reluctantly. “Truly demonic. Never thought you had it in you.”

“That’s okay, Hastur, I’m pleased you’ve admitted your mistake now. I forgive you.”

“What?! Take your forgiveness and stick it up you-know-where!”

“Oh, easy, easy, man, it was just a joke.”

Hastur inhaled sharply to calm himself and then sniffed the air.

“This place… It smells… holy.”

“Of course it does!” Crowley snorted, trying to look cool while his heart pounded like crazy in his chest. “There used to be a holy spring here only yesterday. This is holy mud now, for Satan’s sake! Or did you think you’d sent me to some resort?”

“Don’t be smart, Mister Slick!”

“I can’t help myself; that’s what I am – smart. I hope you will report this to the… Lower Authority. Or shall I go down myself?”

“I will. And don’t think I won’t be back with another task for you.”

“Sure. I’m already looking forward to it.” Hastur had already disappeared into the flames when Crowley added, “See you in another hundred years.”

When Hastur was properly gone, the children, who had been hiding in the bushes all that time, jumped out and ran towards Crowley.

“It worked! He bought it!”

“He totally bought it!”

“He is so scary!”

“And he smells awful.”

“That’s true; we smelt him even from over there.”

“No wonder you’re so afraid of him!”

“I’m not afraid of _him_!” argued Crowley. Really, he wasn’t.

“Aren’t you? You’re so brave, Mister Crowley!”

“Can you step into the flames too?”

“Absolutely.” It was nice that someone appreciated demonic talents for once.

“Will you show us?”

“No. And don’t you try and set me on fire, you little buggers.”

“Has anyone called Aziraphale?”

“Yes, he’s already coming.”

Aziraphale was hurrying towards them from the cave of St Joseph where Crowley had made him hide during his meeting with Hastur – just in case. The angel was all flustered and short of breath, but he didn’t stop even for a moment.

“Crowley!” He sighed with relief and grinned as he looked at the demon. “You did it.”

“No,” Crowley said seriously and watched Aziraphale’s smile falter. Such an old trick and the angel still bought it. “ _We_ did it.”

Aziraphale smiled again and smacked him good-naturedly on the shoulder. Then he turned to the kids.

“Yeah, we did it.”

The children cheered, and then they did something that Crowley absolutely couldn’t have expected. They all suddenly turned to Crowley and Aziraphale and threw their arms around them, so that they found themselves inside a huge hug.

Crowley gasped. At first, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He stiffened and pressed his hands to his chest awkwardly. But then he saw Aziraphale’s face. The angel looked absolutely delighted. He was hugging Fair with one hand and patting Ronnie on the head with the other. A little girl – what was her name, Sophie? – hugged Crowley’s legs, startling him. Aziraphale saw it and giggled, then nodded encouragingly. Crowley allowed himself to relax a bit and stroked the girl’s hair gingerly. She didn’t run away.

“See?” the angel said to Crowley. “I told you, _sometimes_ , things that seem so awfully important or important _and_ awful – those things just don’t really matter.”

Aziraphale’s hand patted another boy’s head, as if meaning to say: _“Not for them.”_ And then the same hand rubbed Crowley’s shoulder – very quickly and very gently, as if he meant to add: _“And not for me.”_

Crowley lowered his head so that the angel couldn’t see his eyes. He tried to hide the weird happy feeling overtaking him behind a more appropriate grumpiness, but his voice still sounded too pleased for his liking when he said:

“Alright, enough of this hugging nonsense. We still have a stream to clear.”

If that “sometimes” Aziraphale had mentioned meant the time they spent toge… _like this_ , then he would quite like to have it more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to meet me on Tumblr, I'm here: https://sonnetnumber23.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came to me in autumn 2018, and this was when I wrote the first notes, so imagine how surprised I was when half a year later in the TV Show Crowley said his famous line "Not the kids? You can't kill kids." I'd just assumed he was that kind of person because in the book it's Aziraphale who suggests killing the Antichrist, and Crowley dismisses this thought when he's bringing Adam to the nuns. So I was both delighted (because I got it right) and annoyed (because the TV show used this theme before me!). :D


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